


nobody does it like you do

by burninmatches



Series: nobody does it like you do [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Healing Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninmatches/pseuds/burninmatches
Summary: You don’t exactly recall how you and Malfoy ended up together for the first time, half naked and trying to keep quiet – blame it on the victorious bliss. The both of you find the escape you need through sex. What happens when your pathetic excuse of a coping mechanism starts to change your lives, tangling the both of you together?series playlist link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Lh000mWuFXDSNM83Ov5GJ?si=BB2vD7wuTquYqiD_93XRCg
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader
Series: nobody does it like you do [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914682
Comments: 40
Kudos: 184





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m back to my Harry Potter obsession, full force! This is my first time writing for Draco so I’m still getting used to the character. Thank you to my sweet baby Rosie (@renaissancecherub on tumblr) for fueling my story and beta reading! Feedback is highly appreciated.

You don’t exactly recall how you and Malfoy ended up together for the first time, naked and intertwined – blame it on the victorious bliss.

You won: the one who shall not be named was gone for good – and so were most of his followers. Draco had built enough courage to switch sides and abandon the people he knew as family. You lost friends, people who you grew up with. Everyone lost something, in one way or another – some people even lost everything.

The tall, pale boy – yes, boy, he was barely 18 and so were you. Children having to be the bigger guy and fight for what was correct. A weight none of you should have to carry, ever. He was the one who found you sitting by yourself at the edge of one of Hogwarts’ many stairs. You looked ethereal and for a brief moment, Draco could have sworn you were a spirit.

Your cheeks were damp with the ghost of tears – tears of joy or sorrow? You couldn’t tell at this point. He couldn’t quite decipher what sort of emotions was held in your gaze. Anger? Sadness? Relief? Happiness?

Perhaps you were feeling all of them, a hurricane of emotions taking place in your heart.

It was too much to handle by yourself. First, Harry’s death – which didn’t actually happen. For some awful, soul draining moments you felt like your world crumbled. The bad guys won and your hero was deceased, your last drop of hope was now long vaporized. Your heart became nothing more than a dry, lonely desert. There was only so much an 18 year old could handle.

And then, the inevitable happened: the Malfoy family, a long line of pure bloods, made him choose between what was right and what he has always known. You couldn’t stand the scene before you, as you closed your eyes and silently sobbed on Hermione’s shoulder. You’ve never been close to the Slytherin boy; however there was a small but evident part inside of your core that pitied him. Blame it on your giant heart.

The stars above may have aligned in the correct way because, when you least expected it, Before Draco could reach the sea of death eaters, Harry freed himself from Hagrid’s grip, in one swift motion.

The boy who never had a choice, finally made a right one. His pale, long fingers tossed a wand in the air as a loud cry broke the awful stillness that took place after the loud thud! Of Potter’s body hitting the ground.

“Potter!”

And with 20 seconds of insane courage, his life changed forever.

“May I sit here?” A hoarse voice breaks the silence that previously surrounded you, as you isolated yourself from the celebration and grief that took place beneath you. You look up; not being able to control the surprised look that now was exposed in your eyes, brows knitted in confusion on top of them. No other than the Slytherin prince himself was standing in front of you.

However that wasn’t the Malfoy you knew, oh no – his face was a tad torn between relief and weariness. There was dark dust stained against the delicate porcelain of his cheeks, a subtle wave of flush underneath them. His dark, elegant suit was ripped in several places. A few drops of blood tainted his light skin here and there. He looked older, as if the weight of years that were stolen from him fell on his shoulders.

Unable to speak, you nod in response. He would never mention, but your lack of words surprises him – you were never the one who know when to shut your mouth.

Draco takes a seat next to you, placing his elbows on top of his thighs. He now understood why you were sitting at this specific place by yourself – the edge of the stairs that led to the 7th floor.

The sight before him made him feel conflicted as well. From where you were seated, you could gaze upon the Great Hall as people mourned the dead, celebrated the victory and took care of the wounded – at the same time.

“We won.” Your voice is a barely louder than a broken whisper, and your words get lost in the dusty air. We won.

“We did.” He agrees gently, still not sure if he could consider himself a winner after everything that took place in the school he would never admit he called home. After everything he’s done.

Much to his surprise, you don’t say anything. You don’t agree or deny his statement.

The comfortable quietness that falls around you, the peace you both deserved, rapidly became something else.

What now?

Quietly and slowly, you got up from your settled position, facing the Great Hall one last time. Draco watched you closely, not knowing what to expect. He was definitely not ready for you to start crying or having a breakdown. Malfoy couldn’t understand his own feelings, let alone understand yours – after all, you had plenty of reason to hate him and push him away.

You simply gestured your hand towards him – and he gladly took it.

Malfoy was kind enough not to mention how you’ve been walking in circles, avoiding old classrooms because the agony would be too much to handle – the last thing you needed was to see the place you called home in ruins. For a while, the click of your heels was the only sound that disturbed the damaged corridors or the 7th floor, as your eyes wondered through the wide halls.

He speculated what you were thinking about. _____, always a mystery.

Cries of victory reverberated through the walls eventually, creating a beautiful sonata you once heard in your dreams. A group of boys you recognized – Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan along with some other Gryffindors stormed through the hallway, loudly singing the Hogwarts anthem.

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something, please.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, amused at their contagious happiness. Malfoy almost immediately joined you, and you became giggly messes together. The both of you were dying to feel something, anything – and, in some way, each other’s presence helped with intoxicating your brains with waves of glorious ecstasy, even if momentarily.

His head was thrown back towards the wall as you held on said surface, unable to stand much longer without falling apart. With the same unpredictability that the laughter approached the both of you, it got lost in the wind once again.

Somehow, between dry chuckles and longing stares, you ended up pinned against the marble wall as Draco’s mouth crashed into yours. The moment was blurry, fuzzy with a foggy sentiment you have never felt in your life.

It was a mess, really – tongues sliding against each other, your fingers tangled in silver hair and occasional desperate pants. Long, marble fingers ran through your skin, working quickly and leaving the ghost of goose bumps behind. The shape of his body fit perfectly with yours.

A specific, curious sound made the both of you stop – frozen and intertwined together, as if you’d let go of each other, you’d suddenly vanish. A sound you heard many time before.

A distinct, large wooden door appeared next to you, blooming on the granite.

Hogwarts would always provide help when needed – and that’s exactly what you needed: to escape.

The silver boy wastes no time, tugging on your waist as you entered the Requirement Room. Said chamber was still a mess from the previous battle that took place, both parties fighting for a horcrux that was now destroyed.

The irony of the moment made Draco smile into the kiss, as the corners of his lips raked up – funny how Draco swore to never enter this room again only a few hours prior, given the fact that many of his worst memories took place there. You know what they say: one of the first steps of healing is letting go of bad memories in order to create better ones.

You’re sitting on top of a mahogany colored counter, skirt raked up as a pale hand explores the area between your thighs. For the first time in a few hours, you realize you’re wearing the school uniform. The Slytherin prince doesn’t seem to care. The instant doesn’t call for flowers or intimacy: it’s completely driven by desperation and lust – or, perhaps the lack of brains.

If anyone knew you were hiding in the requirement room, giving in to your instincts, you’d never hear the end of it.

His mouth travels through your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin, as a low moan escapes from your lips. The sound seems to have ignited something deep inside of him. Malfoy has a devilish grin blooming on his lips as he kisses you once again. Your fingertips find the first few buttons of his silky, dark colored shirt.

You shiver under his touch, tugging slightly on his pastel colored hair. He lets out a small groan that you swallow, placing your lips on his and pulling him closer with your dominant leg snaked around his waist. You couldn’t undo the fourth one, as Draco took your hands in his and pinned them against a pile of random objects that sat behind you.

It’s your turn to make a strangled noise when his long fingers find the place where you need him the most, making you melt. A thread of curses falls from your lips like a prayer and you’re unable to stop them. Your eyes shut, allowing you to revel in the moment, appreciating every single brush of his digits against your sweet spot. The bubble of warmth blooms on your lower abdomen, drowning you in ecstasy. His repeated motions make your muscles clench around his long, pale fingers as the cool metal of his rings brush against your clit.

It’s sloppy, the shy sparkle that existed in your core soon becoming a forest fire. A broken whimper leaves your lips when Draco removes his fingers from your wet core, leaving you empty. He shushes you, placing his index finger on your lips.

The room is a furnace, a boiling and steamy isolated hideout: the gateway of your wildest dreams and most petrifying nightmares.

When he finally enters you, your eyes shut once more and you see stars.

His not as rough as you thought he would be, however he isn’t gentle either. Slowly but confidently, he picks up the pace and holds one of your legs above his shoulder.

His hips thrust into yours and you hide your face in the crook of his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. His scent intoxicates you, a sweet mixture of his cologne and sweat. One specific last bite is placed on his pointy collarbone in order to make sure he’ll remember this in a few hours. It’s your turn to give him a wolfish grin.

It’s repairing, a fresh feeling of hunger and desperation that fuel the both of you. A symphony of unholy sounds takes over the room: your loud cries along with the wet, messy noise of him pounding into you.

The only clear sentence you can make out in the middle of the burning chaos is:

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

It’s enough to drive the both of you crazy, sending you over the edge. The Earth stutters on is axis as the bubble of warmth explodes on your lower abdomen. Beneath him, you look godlike: eyebrows knitted in pleasure, a silent cry leaving your lips.

Silence falls upon you once again, the mere delicate sounds of panting being enough to disturb the quiet. You fix your skirt, fingers fidgeting with the dark material as Draco fixes his shirt.

“I have to go.” The words that leave your mouth sound like a death sentence and it’s the only thing he hears before you leave him in the messy room, shoes clicking on your way out.

That’s why, 4 months later, you’re surprised to see a drenched and confused Draco Malfoy standing in your doorway.


	2. the shame always come at the worst time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco shows up, after 4 months since your little rendezvous, drenched at your doorstep. you want to find out about what happened to him, but things get in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey darlings! i'm loving the response to this fic already <3 your comments fuel my brain, don't ever forget that. i hope you like this one as much as i loved writing it!

“Malfoy?”  
His name has the weight of a thousand words, tasting bittersweet on the tip of your tongue. It’s almost 10; the dark night sky is glistening with stars outside. Questions float around you but you stay silent, fearing that the scene before you was nothing more than a fever dream – like many you had after your shared moment in the Requirement Room.  
Even though the war has ended, there are habits that are hard to let go – and you’re not even mentioning the nightmares and bad days in which you can’t go grocery shopping without fearing for your life.  
With a wave of heat blossoming underneath your cheeks, you – slowly, awfully slowly – let your guard and wand down. There must be a good reason why he’s standing on your doorstep.   
He could get intoxicated on your trust alone.   
Draco is wearing an elegant, formal robe as always – only this time, he’s not completely dressed in black. His white dress shirt is almost transparent, clinging onto his wet skin. The rich green tie is loose around his neck, as if he tried to take it off but didn’t have the strength – or guts – to do so.   
On the other hand, you’re wearing an oversized shirt and some pajama shorts, ready for bed. You would be embarrassed if the moment wasn’t so unexpected, leaving your brain foggy with questions.   
A thunder crashes a few blocks away before he opens his mouth, bottom lip slightly trembling as he speaks.   
“I-I didn’t know where else to go.”  
You let him in.

The sight of the Slytherin Prince finding comfort in your home was rather amusing – especially if considering the fact that he belonged in one of the richest families of the wizard world. You see, your apartment wasn’t anything extravagant – there’s only much a recently graduated witch can afford.   
“Let’s get you dry, yeah?” You say gently, pulling your wand out. He nods in response and you gradually dry his clothes, with a simple spell you learned quickly in Charms class. Merlin, how you miss your first years at Hogwarts…

Draco was settled in a wooden chair, near the kitchen counter. His pale, long fingers were wrapped around a mug that looked ridiculously small in his hands. Hot, steaming tea was his choice of beverage when you offered him anything to eat or drink – perhaps that’s why he looked skinnier than usual.   
You don’t mean to be creepy while watching him – he was the one who showed up at your home uninvited, for crying out loud, however he looked so… ethereal, almost fragile. It was incredibly hard to aim your gaze elsewhere: he looked like he belonged in a renaissance painting, perhaps even a sculpture. A flawless, godlike person who was now broken and drinking tea out of one of your favorite mugs. You wonder why, out of all the people he knew, he chose to bang on your door specifically.   
The small smile that was planted on your lips as you watched the scene slowly disappears: your lips fall agape, forming a perfect “O” shape.  
The trial.   
The air around you buzzed with electricity, as if any bold movement would awake a monster inside the both of you. For a second, you wonder if there’s a running criminal sitting on your worn out, wooden chair.   
Not that you’re aware of this, but this is exactly why Draco showed up at your place – you wouldn’t ask questions. You never did, not even during your Hogwarts years.   
You always kept things to yourself.   
Hell, you didn’t even ask how he knew where you lived – you were quite aware of how death eaters had their way. Either you ended up on the Ministry watch list during the dark times or…  
Or Draco was keeping an eye out for you.  
You don’t know which idea sounds the most absurd.   
Unhurriedly, you get out of the counter you were seating on, cross legged. Draco silently begs for your every step, wanting – needing – you to get closer. It was hardly his fault: he hasn’t felt this way since the day of the battle, a day he has been dreadfully trying to forget. As you reach him slowly, a small part of him wants to hold you in his arms for a while – he silences that part with outstanding rapidity.   
Your red dipped nails find their way to his scalp, moving delicately – yes, you chose to ignore the fact that he almost flinched when you lifted your hand near his face. Your fingers run through his soft silver hair and he shuts his eyes, humming happily in response. The ends are still a bit damp, even with your attempts to dry it.   
You chuckle softly at his expression, amused at how the both of you found yourselves in this situation – again. Draco looks at you closely, lifting his head towards you. Your eyes connect for a split of a second, probably for the first time since he entered your place, and that was enough of a sparkle to combust the entire room.   
Again, the moment is blurry with desperate desire. You’re not quite sure who made the first move; all you can focus on is how his lips feel against yours. Your tongues move together, and he quickly stands up, grabbing your face in his hands.   
The mug that was once in his hands fall to the floor, breaking with a loud crack!  
The sound strangely doesn’t disturb the moment, the only instant he removes his lips from yours is to mutter a quick “Reparo!” under his breath, with a swift motion of his wand.   
His firm grip is placed on your waist, wanting to push you away and pull you closer – at the same time. You can feel the conflicted emotions swell inside your heart, and you silently curse yourself for letting him in – not only in your home, but in your brain.   
It would be way easier to hate him if he wasn’t so damn charming.   
Next thing you know, he’s seated on your dog-tired sofa and you’re straddling his lap. Your fingers find their way to the smooth material of his shirt, unbuttoning the first few spaces. Draco stops your movements, bringing one of your hands towards his trousers.   
The message is clear: he wants you now.   
Draco is leaving open mouthed kisses under your ear, making you moan in response, while your unsteady hands attempt to unbuckle his belt. Lightning travels through your veins, filling you with anticipation: you’ve been secretly daydreaming about the Syltherin Prince for the past 4 months, but it’s not like you’ll ever admit it out loud.   
You run your fingernails lightly on the exposed skin of his chest, causing him to groan in your ear. Your eyes close, allowing your body to feel the pleasurable bliss of knowing he feels good. The little cat and mice game you play is only fueling your need to have him. The fact that Draco has to bite back a loud moan when you leave a particular angry red mark under his collarbone makes you smile in pride, aware of the effect you have on him.   
His fingers find your sweat shorts, removing the soft material along with your panties, leaving you bare. For a brief second, you feel exposed. The fact that you’re almost naked and he’s still wearing his three piece suit doesn’t go unnoticed by you.   
With one hand playing with his erection and the other pulling slightly on his pastel hair, you can feel the ache between your legs increase by the second. As if he was able to read your mind, Draco’s digits find your wetness, causing a pathetic whimper to leave your lips.   
He smiles wolfishly, a cocky look evident in his eyes. You can hear the implied words playing in your brain, almost as if they’re mocking you.  
Is this what I do to you?  
With your hand on the back of his neck, you pull him close, leaving you mere centimeters apart. You pull his bottom lip between your teeth, slowly and sensually.  
This is exactly what you do to me.   
You stop fisting his erection, placing his member at your entrance. Dreadfully slowly, you sink on his member, causing a strangled noise to fall from his lips. It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, feeling him lusciously stretching your walls.   
A wave of blush flourishes on his cheeks, tainting his porcelain skin. Draco’s pale hair is all over the place, pointed in different directions. He looks like a complete, utter mess beneath you. You could feel a sense of pride swelling your chest, a childish feeling of that “I have it and you don’t” business. It’s not like Draco belongs to you – but, for a few moments, you’re the only one who sees him as a desperate, vulnerable mess.   
You bounce, creating a steady rhythm, one that suits the both of you. Draco has one of his hands gripping your waist tightly, guiding you as you ride him and pushing you down harder. Your hips roll against his, creating a refreshingly unholy friction. His other hand travels up your torso, finding your breasts and playing with your nipples, taking his time with each of them.   
The obscene sounds of skin against skin fill the room, as you bounce on his shaft. You can feel the familiar bubble of warmth grow on your lower abdomen and his name falls from your lips like a prayer.   
Malfoy lifts your shirt, not completely, only enough to reveal your bouncing breasts. You shiver as the cool air hits your sensitive buds, and when his mouth connects with one of them while his hand works with the other one, your brain short-circuits.   
The combined pleasure sends a white hot feeling through your veins, as your bouncing motions start to get sloppy. Noticing that, Draco thrusts his hips in your direction, meeting you halfway. The both of you move in sync, almost as if you’ve done it a thousand times – perhaps you have, in another dimension.   
You don’t doubt anything anymore.   
His hands are gripping your hips firmly, and you’re sure you’ll have small bruises in the morning. One of his hands moves up, towards your breasts and, for a moment, you think he’ll play with your breasts again.   
However, much to your surprise, his hand finds your neck and he squeezes it gently.   
You see stars as he takes control, eyebrows knitted together in pleasure. Your head feels dizzy, foggy with pleasure. The brand new feeling makes your muscles clench around him and he grunts in response. If your eyes could remain open – he’ll have to excuse you, really, the amount of pleasure is indescribable – you’d be able to see him grinning cockily.   
Two long, pale fingers find their way to your clit and you squeal in surprise as Draco lets out an amused sound. His digits alternate between motioning in circles and figure eights. Your legs tremble in pleasure as your muscles burn. You can feel your heart pounding on your chest and adrenaline boils under your skin.   
“Let go.” Draco whispers, biting the shell of your ear shortly after.   
The Earth stutters on its axis as a white hot feeling bursts the bubble of warmth on your lower abdomen, indicating you’ve reached your climax. Your skin burns, as if you were catching fire. Nothing you’ve ever felt compares to this. Your whole body is filled with ecstasy – a few shockwaves spread through your body as pounds into you a few more times. The feeling kept going, hard and hot.   
A last fall of his name from your perfect lips triggers his orgasm, as he bursts inside you.   
Your moans create a beautiful harmony, an angel like sound that’ll be replaying on your brain for days. The wet noises add to it, as the rhythm slows down and you collapse on top of him, a thread of a mixture of his name and a few curses dropping from your lips one last time  
You have no idea how long you stayed like this, tangled and panting together. None of you move, remaining as a hot mess together.  
The moon and the sun, coexisting in a space they were never meant to share.   
“After the trial…” He starts, breaking the silence with a pointy knife as words. “My dad was convicted.”  
You can taste his mixed feelings, even though he doesn’t mention it.   
“Mum and I are free.” He states simply, revealing the outcome of the Malfoy trial.  
You can’t tell if he’s talking about judicial liberty or independence from his father – however you’ll bet good money it’s both.   
It’s vulnerable, the way he opened up. It’s nothing you would expect, not like this and not from him. A shy but grateful smile appears on your lips. It’s ironic, really – he’s still inside you as your juices mix together and you’re suddenly shy?   
“I’m glad.” Your words are small but truthful, dripping with a feeling the both of you can’t describe. This whole situation is still unexplored territory: it could be a battlefield or a bed of roses.   
Can you afford to take a chance, though? It’s not like you could handle more battles.   
“After the whole… thing,” he gestures in the air as he speaks, silver rings glistening in pale fingers. “I started wondering through London streets and somehow I ended up… here.” Draco explains, dryly chuckling.  
You move your head from his chest, now facing him. You’re speechless: how can you answer to such gesture?  
A panicked voice takes over his brain. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe he said too much. The amount of money he would pay to know what’s going on in your mind right this second…  
Draco removes his member from you, making you hiss in response. You take the cue to move from his lap, walking towards the bathroom to get a clean yourself. Not more than a few moments pass by when you appear in the hallway, back to the living room.  
Malfoy was now fully dressed, looking composed as if nothing happened.   
“I have to go.” His words take you off guard, and you recall those are the same knives you threw at him when you left him alone in the Requirement Room.   
It’s his turn to leave you.   
You try to brush off the feeling that you’ll eventually find your way to each other again.


	3. emperor's new clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nostalgia fills you up as an old friend contacts you. The outcome of the Malfoy trial is more than you expected. It turns out that your gut feeling was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey darlings!! this chapter is a looooooooot. i tried to focus a bit more on reader and her life. hope you guys are ready. remember, feedback is highly appreciated!!

It was quite strange to have a peaceful morning routine after such a long time of living in tension, inside a boiling pan of war, waiting for it to burst. Sometimes, you were sure you were trapped inside a peaceful dream.

Your legs dragged you towards the bathroom, slowly, as if a part of your brain wasn’t completely awake yet. On the mirror’s reflection, you could see someone who looked exactly like you – except she had a couple of love bites near her left collarbone and a few bruises here and there.

Memories of the night before flooded your mind, clogging your brain for a couple of seconds. Flashes of exposed skin, panting and half lidded stares sent a shiver down your spine. Suddenly, your body was hyper aware of what happened less than 12 hours ago.

In a failed attempt to distract you from those lingering thoughts, you find your way to the kitchen. Your mismatched-sock-covered feet sent you towards the fridge as your body subconsciously begged for food. It was a long night, after all. 

A familiar sound came from the window, making you smile. A dark brown owl appeared in the frame, plopping the letters and a small package on the table. Said animal was a gift from your parents after you nailed a Potions exam during your third year – your lips curl with such memory: perhaps that’s why your young brain gave her such a stupid name.

“What’s up, Muffin?” You ask the owl, not expecting the animal to actually respond your question. Sure, owls were magical beings at some extent – but they definitely wouldn’t talk to you.

While eating a banana, you fumble through the papers, your eyes scanning the pieces of paper for anything new. A few letters from Hermione and Luna – good, you missed your girls. One from Weasley after two months of radio silence, which made you smile. A letter from Harry, which was peculiar – he usually called when needed anything.

The usual. Nothing more than a Saturday morning.

Finally, your fingers reached a thick block of paper, which you instantly recognized as the Daily Prophet – said newspaper was, usually, a shit show: however it remained one of the only ways to keep in touch with the wizard world.

You unfold the pages with your wand while petting the animal, way too distracted – you deserve a break, though: mornings weren’t exactly your forte.

That’s when your heart almost jumped out of your mouth.

On the front page, a moving picture showed the Malfoy clan in a courtroom, which was nothing more than what you expected: you figured that the spiteful newspaper would at least mention the trial, after all. Each member of said family was seated separately, waiting for their future to be the decided. On the corner of the frame, however, was a pair of rich green eyes and messy dark hair. No, it couldn’t be.

What was Potter doing at Malfoy’s trial?

Your eyes scan the page quicker than you imagined possible, desperate for any information that could rest your heart and answer your unnumbered questions. You could feel your heartbeat increase by the second as your eyes captured a few words.

“Yesterday afternoon, one of the most awaited events of the last decade took place at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement: the Malfoy trial. During said occasion, Lucius and Narcisa Malfoy, along with their only child Draco were judged by their actions during the dark times.

In a stunning turn of events, Harry Potter served as a witness, along with other wizards and witches. When asked by our reporter why he defended Narcisa and Draco Malfoy, the boy who lived answered “I know what it’s like to be a child soldier [sic].”

Lucius Malfoy was convicted not only with war crimes, but also with domestic violence. Mother and son were cleared of all charges.”

You gasp at those last words, layers of emotions unknotting on your brain. The paper falls against the counter once again, silently. You couldn’t read the rest of the article that, by the looks of it, was nowhere near finished with this story. That’s why Draco looked so lost last night.

Again, that explained why the sex was mourned and joy filled.

You could barely imagine what he was going through: the confusion he must be feeling at the moment, the mixture of liberty and grief.

The fact that he was proved not guilty made you extremely pleased. It was an odd feeling even for you – Draco fucked up a lot, you won’t sugarcoat it. However, perhaps he wasn’t the monster everyone thought he was.

That was… a lot.

You looked at your owl and the petite animal seemed as confused as you did.

Suddenly, you remember Harry sent you a later. Your pulse beats harder and faster against your temples, sparkles of electricity travelling through your veins. Shaky hands fumble through the papers, desperate to find Harry’s signature.

When you finally find it, it says nothing more than an address and a date.

Two weeks later, you arrive at said place, checking Harry’s letter. The place looked like any other muggle bar in south London. Your entrance is discreetly announced by a small bell that was hanging on the door, its sound being silenced by the loud voices that filled the room.

Your eyes scanned the area briefly, searching for a specific familiar face. A medium figure with messy hair and round glasses was at a table for two.

Bingo!

“Didn’t know you were a whisky kind of guy.” You say, taking Harry by surprise. His head snaps in your direction and he quickly gets up from his seat, an amazed look evident on his face.

“_____, I can’t believe you actually showed up!” He exclaimed, hugging you instantly.

The boy who lived – or just Harry, as he preferred, was looking healthier than you have ever seen. His skin looked a few shades darker, as if he spent the past months in a tropical island – you wouldn’t blame him if he did. His smile and eyes seemed brighter, an evident sparkle floating in the green color. He deserves nothing but peace after tongue-kissing death for all those years.

“How have you been?” You ask, taking a seat in front of him.

“Y’know, it’s a rollercoaster.”

Yes, it is.

“It’s been a good couple of weeks, though.” He adds while nursing the honey colored drink in his hand. Your gaze never leaves his, scanning his expression and waiting for more. For a few seconds, your eyes silently beg for more.

More what? You don’t know at this point.

“Any specific reasons why?” The crushing words leaves your lips with a harsher tone than you originally intended, which made his brows lift up in amusement. The questions you’ve been avoiding for the last weeks boil under your skin.

“You know why.” He starts, avoiding your gaze, suddenly finding the mahogany color of the wooden table extremely interesting. After a couple of moments, his rich green orbits burn into yours again. “I never hated him.”

His words take you by surprise, and it takes a few seconds to understand his statement.

“How come?” You ask finally, toying with the necklace that was wrapped around your neck.

Harry was observant – whenever you fidgeted with the material, it was a clear indication you felt uneasy. During exams, getting caught sneaking around the castle or when you were waiting for something.

“I guess I thought I hated him.” He begins, eyeing the faint scar on his left hand.

I must not tell lies.

“Maybe I forgot who the real enemy was” Harry adds. “Don’t get me wrong, he was a dipshit. But I guess people change; I have no reason to hate him now.”

“Well, I guess not.” Is all you can say, mouth going dry suddenly.

“_____, I may be stupid.” He held his finger in the air, lightheartedly. “But I’m not dumb. I know something happened between the two of you.”

Your heart jumped straight to your throat, making you feel as if you were about to vomit. Before you could open your mouth, he proceeded.

“Or could have happened, at least.” He clarifies after taking a sip of his drink. “Year four, around the Yule Ball thing.”

Oh. Oh.

That was definitely not what you initially assumed he would say. It takes a few long seconds for your heart to slow down. The dark haired boy watches you closely as your eyes get glossy and lost, and flashbacks flood your mind.

The weather was colder than usual by the first week of December – which, looking back, perhaps meant that nature knew something bad was about to happen.

You and Dean Thomas walked through the great hall, discussing heatedly about the latest quidditch match – in which, if you remember correctly, earned you almost a galleon when the Chudley Cannons lost by 40 points. The boy has been your friend since day one: the instant connection was obviously solely platonic.

“So, who are you taking to the ball?” You ask mischievously, a teasing smile planted on your lips. Your words earn a playful eye rolling in response.

“Dunno yet.” He mumbles, fixing his cloak as you reached an open area of the castle. “And you?”

“Don’t know either.” You answer, distracted, as you looked for a specific book inside your backpack. Dean’s gaze wondered through the patio, which was fairly empty because of the weather, looking for any of your mutual friends. Almost as if the moment was previously rehearsed, Potter appears in your field of vision.

The boy looked relieved when his gaze met the both of you, as if he was running from something – or someone. Dean greeted him, proceeding to ask him about his partner to the ball, to which Harry blushed furiously.

“Hey, it looks like I forgot my book in the library.” You say, tone drenched with annoyance as you sighed. “I’ll see you guys later.”

With a small wave, you parted on your way towards the opposite area of the castle. Your black formal shoes clicked against the beige floor, moving quickly. Somehow, you managed to squeeze your way through the sea of students, arriving quickly at an empty hall near the library. As you approached its entry, the echoing sound of someone pacing quickly in the corridor disturbed you, making you turn on your heels.

You were met with a tall, lanky figure. Malfoy.

“____.” He greeted simply, no signs of annoyance or hatred in his voice. Besides picking on your friends and usually calling them awful names, the boy didn’t seem to hold any bad feelings towards you.

“Malfoy.” You muttered, not wanting to keep conversation. His figure towers of yours, intimidating you a tad – you would rather die than ever admit it, though.

“I wanted ask you something.” He said, fingers thoughtlessly running through the leather string of his backpack. His pale eyes are glued on yours, looking for a sign of reaction. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go to the-“

What he was trying ask you, you never found out, as a loud cry of your name echoed through the hallway.

“_____.” Potter ran down the hall in your direction, a large book in his hands. “Hermione got your book after you left the library; she was looking for you everywhere.”

The moment vanished through your hands like salt in water.

“That?” Your voice sounds unsure, dropping an octave lower. “That was nothing, really.”

Harry eyes you suspiciously, as if you were hiding something. You brush the feeling off. Memories from Hogwarts could be a bit blurry anyway. For some unknown reason, he decides to let go.

“Our feud sounds so stupid now. We talked a bit after the trial and… ” His voice dies, words getting stuck on his chest. “I guess I was wrong, he’s not who I thought he was. In a good way, obviously.”

His next words were the ones that knocked the air out of your chest:

“I wonder what could’ve happened if things were a bit different then.”

“There’s a lot of that going on, isn’t it?”

Your words earn a lighthearted chuckle from the golden boy. A smile creeps on your lips, and your heart flutter: you were – are – extremely grateful for your friendship. The fact that the war shaped your perspectives doesn’t disturb you… well, at least for a couple of hours. If there’s one thing you learned from the conflict, is that you should savor the good moments while they last.

The rest of the night consisted of cheerful conversation, avoiding whatever heavy topic was taking over your minds over the last handful of months. The sound of laughter fills you with joy, and, for the first time in a long while, you’re not worried about anything. Often, you would tell dumb stories from your Hogwarts years, when all was well. Simple things that you cherish greatly, things that you couldn’t go back to. The undertone of the words that escape your lips still is a tad dark.

When you laid down that night, your head felt heavy, sinking into the pillow you rested on. The questions were born fully developed, exactly like Zeus’ head birthed Athena, as Harry’s words echoed in your head. Oh, what a tragedy.

What could have happened? What could have happened if you weren’t friends with Harry? What could have happened if Draco didn’t find you by the stairs after the battle?

What are the things you would change?

You wondered if Midas would ever touch you again – for now, your fingers would have to do the job.

A month passed by and you attempted to focus on other things. After building up enough strength and courage, you applied for a new job at the Ministry of Magic – it took a few sessions at therapy to help make you feel better about the idea. At the end of the day, it’s not like a muggle job would fulfill your desires and material needs.

It’s been a full demanding week since your first day. So far you had to put up with rude wizards, requests for paperwork you weren’t qualified to do and–

Truth is you weren’t having a good day. You almost arrived late to work because your alarm didn’t go off – causing you to get ready extremely quickly and not have breakfast, someone spilled coffee on your cloak accidentally and a male coworker thought it would be a nice idea to test his new pickup lines on you.

Even though it was wonderful to occupy yourself with work, it was getting quite difficult to handle some specific things. Thankfully, your shift ended and you would only be back on Monday. You did your best to freshen up a bit before walking down the hall, a letter in your hand and your bag in the other. It was the end of another day and you could feel your body begging for a nap – maybe even some cozy food.

Needless to say, you were extremely emotional and deserved some rest.

Perhaps you shouldn’t be reading the letter from Dean as you walked – in your defense, you didn’t have time to read it this morning. The brilliant action caused you to end up lost in the Department of Defense – and you worked at the Department of International Cooperation. You sigh in annoyance. What else could go wrong today?

As someone bumps into you, you almost dropped the block of papers that you were holding tightly. Whoever it was held you so you wouldn’t fall, a single arm snaked around your back. Your eyes meet grey ones and you almost choke. He looked different than the last time you saw him, a month and a half ago.

Draco is wearing an elegant suit, which doesn’t surprise you – however, the color of the expensive material is a few shades lighter. You don’t fail to notice his fingers are glowing with silver rings.

“Dra-Malfoy?” Your voice sounds surprised, a few octaves higher than usual. You fold Dean’s letter and shove it inside your purse. Suddenly, you’re hyper aware that he’s still holding you. You gulp, removing yourself from said position and adjusting your clothes. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” He answers you with a question, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your paranoid brain. He adds: “I work here.”

Your mouth falls agape. Truly, this was the icing on the cake of your terrible day. You now share your work place with someone you’ve been avoiding – and who’s mutually avoiding you. The pressure in the hair was so thick you couldn’t cut it with a knife. Perhaps a chainsaw would get the job done.

“What are you doing here?” He asks the same thing in return, identical silver daggers entering your skin. You wonder if that was a habit of his.

You open your mouth to speak, only to shut it again. Different memories and feelings take over your mind, making your brain short-circuit. The way he left you after your last encounter, Harry’s words and the never ending pressure you constantly felt at work. Hot, fat tears threaten their way out of your eyes. It was just too much – and you finally cracked.

“Hey, hey.” Draco whispers, expression softening unexpectedly. His dominant hand returns to the small of your back, guiding you through the hallway. “Breathe, okay? Let’s get you out of here.”

It was his turn to take care of you.

He did his best; you’ll have to give him that.

“Go lay down while I make you a cup of tea, okay?”

You do as you’re told. You didn’t have the strength to put up a tantrum and claim that you were perfectly fine, thank you very much.

As you sit on your bed, the mattress sinks a bit. You take your black stilettos off, discarding the shoes to the side. The pressure on your temples was obvious: you tried to rub it off with your fingertips, shutting your eyes in the process. You could hear strange sounds coming from the kitchen – of course Draco was using magic in order to make you a cup of tea. You wonder how he would survive without magic.

The silver boy appears on your doorframe a few minutes later, cup of tea in his hands. It was almost sensory overloading for him: everything sensed and felt exactly like you – he allowed himself to be engulfed by your presence. Draco walks over to your bed and takes a seat beside you, handing you the warm drink. With a silent thank you, you enjoy the beverage.

You remember something you read in a book once, years ago. If a specific thing happens, it doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. If something happens twice, however, it will definitely happen for a third time. You feel like Eve – awareness would eventually expel you from the flawless heaven that was your comfort zone.

You know what they say: the third time is the charm.

This time was different, however. It was your turn to accidentally break the empty mug when his large hands held your face as he kissed you, tongue sliding slowly over yours. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, swallowing a moan that vibrated from your throat. This time, no one bothers to fix the broken ceramic: it could wait.

Draco kisses the sweet spot under your ear and you bite back a moan, shutting your eyes in response to his magic touch.

His coat was long discarded when you first entered the small apartment, just like yours. He still remained polished, though: his vest and tie were still in place. This time, things were different. Despite the lust and bliss, it wasn’t rushed. You could taste the freshness on the tip of your tongue.

The emperor wasn’t wearing any clothes – and soon enough neither were you.

His lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of your thighs, making you feel butterflies rebel on your stomach. Draco’s pale eyes were glued on you, making a frustrating heat blossom on your cheeks.

Truth be told, Draco Malfoy would most likely be the reason of your death – not that you were complaining. There is no better way to go than being engulfed by his existence.

You squirmed under his touch, broken sounds leaving your lips as he teased you. Your fingers found his pale locks, getting lost in a sea of silver hair. With a small amused chuckle, he spreads your legs, leaving you exposed against the chill air.

His long fingers played with your juices teasingly, as his tongue brushed against your sensitive nub – just enough to drive straight into insanity. You throw your head back, hitting it against the soft pillow you rested on. Fire pooled on your lower abdomen, the shy sparkle of lust soon becoming a forest fire.

The mixture of his fingers vigorously pumping into you as his warm mouth nurtured your clit caused a broken whimper to escape from your lips. His tongue flickered against your sensitive bud, causing you to cry out in pleasure. As you tugged on his pale, soft hair, Draco moaned, sending vibrations to your core. You were a babbling mess, a thin layer of sweat covering your body. A thread of curses fell from your lips charmingly.

You tasted like heaven and, to be fair, this wasn’t a stress reliever just for you. He could feel the stressful whispers in his brain be replaced by your sweet moans.

God, you looked even more beautiful when you gave up control.

The familiar bubble of warmth grew on your lower abdomen. The cold metal of his rings brushed against your entrance, the silver material adding another layer of pleasure. You muttered something incoherently, making Draco remove his lips from where you needed him the most.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that love.”

You could hear the cocky smile in his voice – well, some things don’t change. His long fingers never stopped the pleasing assault, making your muscles clench around his digits. Tugging on his hair harder, the words escape from your lips before you could stop yourself:

“Please, don’t stop.” Your words are paused with short breaths, voice sounding as desperate as you were. “Please, let me cum.”

How adorable you looked when you wanted his permission – it’s not like you needed it, but you wanted it so bad. A deep, dark corner of your brain wanted him to rule you. His warm tongue returns to your sensitive bud, moving skillfully. The pleasured burnt under yoru skin, sending over the edge.

Your thighs clench around his head, with your fingertips buried in his hair and head thrown back. A silent scream gets stuck in your chest as a white hot feeling explodes on your lower abdomen. Your legs tremble, muscles aching with electricity. The world turns to static as the Earth stutters on its axis.

“Feeling better?” He asks, and his tone wasn’t as cocky as you imagined. It could have an undertone of worry, but you didn’t want to read in the moment too much.

“Yeah.” Your voice is weak, almost fragile. The breathless tone is evident in your voice.

Draco kisses you one more time, making you taste yourself on his tongue. You pull him closer by the mahogany colored tie that was wrapped around his neck, needing to be consumed by his existence.

Your body was made of gold once again.


	4. testosterone boys and harlequin girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You catch up with an old friend as things between you and Draco become a bit more... solid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey darlings! This chapter is a bit smaller and kind of a filler one. I promise things will make more sense as the series continues. Please remember, feedback is highly appreciated! thank you to @renaissencecherub and @carolmaximoffs on tumblr for beta reading and bouncing ideas with me.

The black umbrella you were carrying was barely enough to protect you from the drizzle. Your feet marched heavily against the concrete, occasionally stepping in puddles – you silently thanked yourself for the decision of wearing boots. He didn’t know you were coming over: you were ready to have a serious conversation with him, one you couldn’t have through phone calls or letters.   
At this point, you know the way towards Draco’s place like the back of your hand.

You barely make past the light wooden door, almost tripping on your way inside his apartment. Nowadays, you were somehow used to the large flat. It was luxurious yet simple – quite minimalist even. The color palette was elegant, shades of brown and dark green with often splashes of lighter shades. The furniture was expensive, probably handmade. Sure, his dad was locked up but his family was still rich – in some ways, Draco was still a Malfoy at heart.   
As soon as the door shuts closed, the silver boy’s lips are moving against yours – and you forget why you went there in the first place. 

“It seems like half of the people we went to school with are also working at the Ministry.” You say, playing with your – now empty – cup of tea, the silver spoon clicking against the delicate porcelain. “Maybe it has something to do with the fact that most of the previous employees are now in Azkaban.”  
Your attempt of a joke earns a snort from Hermione, which relieves you. One of your countless pathetic excuses of coping with the war was making fun about traumatic experiences.   
The muggle coffee shop was petite, but comfortable and charming. It was a pleasant place, the perfect getaway for a rainy Sunday. A nice escape from the magical world you were both engulfed in: a small café where the world was not rebuilding itself, where no one double checked locked doors or interrogated their friends in fear of an impostor. The chill air outside was ideal for a fall afternoon, colorful leaves getting lost in the wind. All was well.  
“Right? I’ve came across Parvati Patil the other day, she looks like she’s doing alright.” Hermione agrees, taking a last sip of her cup of coffee. She places the empty cup on the wooden table, and adds: “Malfoy too, his department is near mine.”  
Most was well, you thought to yourself.   
Much to your surprise, her addition doesn’t even make you flinch, even though you could feel your blood rapidly burn under your skin.   
“Oh really?” You swallow a scream, putting on your best innocent mask. “Haven’t heard of him in a while...”  
You feel a slight sting of guilt across your heart – you just lied to one of your closest friends and felt nothing. Talk about a pathetic excuse of a coping mechanism…  
Your cheeks stopped heating up at every single sign of lies after your secret rendezvous became more frequent. It’s been 7 months since the first time you ended up in his arms, panting and-   
Perhaps you got used to such feeling.   
Every hour you spent tangled with him was another silver dagger being pushed against your chest. Every hour you spent away from him was another golden dagger pressed against your back.   
Draco was your personal opium.   
“Harry told me he’s changed…” Her voice sounds thoughtful; as if she was searching for any other information she missed in the corners of her brain, trying to recall Harry’s words. “I still don’t know what to think about him, though.”

Your tongue twirled around the tip of his cock, causing him to throw his head back. A deep groan escapes his lips, flush blooming on his porcelain-like skin. He looked ethereal. You wanted – needed – him.   
As you take him in your mouth – awfully slowly, slowly enough to drive him towards insanity – your eyes don’t leave him. His pale fingers find you’re her, gently pulling it out of your face.   
What a gentleman.   
“Fuck _____, that’s so good.” He moaned as you bobbed your head up and down, fisting the part of his shaft you couldn’t fit in your mouth.   
The sounds that escaped his lips only fueled your need to satisfy him. The way you looked at him through half-lidded eyes, expression heavy with lust, would be permanently stained in the roots of Draco’s brain.   
His places his right arm on the counter, in order to support him. You ignore the black ink on his light skin – it’s only been a few weeks since he felt comfortable enough to be shirtless around you.   
“Touch yourself, darling.”  
His whispered words caught you off guard. You stare him with doe eyes, not stopping your head movements. His grey orbs find yours for a moment and he repeats.  
“You heard me.”   
Again, he’s not asking.   
Your free hand finds your wet core, not needing him to repeat his order again. Your digits move in circles, brushing your clit. A low moan escapes your throat, sending vibrations through his shaft, making the silver boy groan in response. The ecstasy that travels through his veins is indescribable. 

“How are you and Ron doing?” You ask, attempting to change the subject, interest dripping from your tone. In your defense, you were actually curious about the redhead – he only writes you every once in a while. You miss him.   
“We’re good!” She replies with a sincere smile blooming on her lips, glad to talk about her loved one. An excited spark glowed on Hermione’s dark eyes – and, for a split of a second, you felt jealousy.  
Jealousy of what? Of feeling something, perhaps.  
“He’s been feeling a bit better lately. Still trying to deal with Fred, y’know?” Her voice has a dark undertone, which doesn’t go unnoticed. Instantly, the jealousy vanishes and a certain feeling of guilt drops on your stomach – again. The mention of Fred’s name is like a punch in your guts.   
“I don’t know what to say.” Your words are nothing but the truth: a part of you still refused to deal with Fred’s death. The ghost of his laugh still haunted your soul, day after day. You couldn’t imagine what it was like to his family. “It must be awful.”  
“George reopened the shop, I feel like he could use all the help he can get.” Hermione’s words don’t connect completely to your brain, as you looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. You feel like your mind is a foggy place, as a deep part of your subconscious refuses to understand information.   
“But I don’t really understand anything about joke shops…”   
“_____, it’s not with the shop that he needs help.”  
Oh. Right.  
To be completely fair, you weren’t exactly close to said twins – however George was the one you went to the Yule Ball with. His goofy presence was charming, sure, but you didn’t exactly date. The sudden memory pops in your mind, a memory of a certain pranked you helped them with, distracting Filch. You smile at the memory.  
“I haven’t been to the Diagonal Alley in a while.” You say, almost to yourself. Hermione doesn’t blame you: returning to normal wizard activities after everything that happened was at least frightening. “I’ll go see him when I have time.”  
It’s not a promise, but she doesn’t mention it.   
“What about you?” Hermione’s expression changes, softens to a playful look. A knowing smirk appears on her lips. “Anything new happening in your love life?”

“Faster.” You beg, pastel colored nails scratching Draco’s back, leaving angry red marks against his fair skin. He hisses, a mixture between pain and pleasure electrifying his nerves. His pale eyes show a hint of darkness inside of them, eyeing you like you were nothing but his prey.   
Draco picked up the pace as requested, hands leaving bruises on your waist. The sound of skin against skin is music to your ears.   
You don’t know how you ended up being fucked on top of his marble kitchen counter, too distracted in the blissful lust he was providing you with. The familiar white-hot bubble of warmth grows on your lower abdomen, such feeling being intensified when Draco’s digits find your sensitive bud along with his fast thrusts.   
You throw your head back, accidentally hitting it against the cabinet.   
“Fuck!” You exclaim, unsure if it was due to the stinging pain in your head or the repetitive pleasurable assault in your core. One of Draco’s hands leaves your hips, finding the spot on you head and caressing it. He laughs lightheartedly, bring your head close to his chest – you chuckle, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement.   
“Do you want me to stop?” He murmurs against your hair, inhaling your scent. Your arms are snaked around his neck – and, at this point, you can’t tell where you end and he begins.   
“No.” You mumble against his puffy lips, hot breath fanning over his face. “Need you.”  
Draco’s not sure if he was meant to hear the last part or not. 

A small yet significant part of you wants to scream about you and Malfoy, about your firewhisky kisses and hidden encounters. You want to cry about the way he makes you feel until your lungs give out, but you don’t.  
You shouldn’t – couldn’t – talk to anyone about this.   
“No luck so far.” You reply, a sad smile blooming on your lips. Again, your face doesn’t burn at the lie.   
For a moment, you wonder if you were flying too close to the sun. 

“I came here to talk, actually.” You’re the one who disturbed the peaceful environment that took place after your post coital ecstasy. He took you to his bedroom about an hour ago, claiming he wasn’t done with you.   
Draco eyes you with curiosity in his expression. Your moments of conversation and questions are usually… rare. He doesn’t know what to expect from you, and the feeling is mutual: you have no idea how he’s going to react.   
“What are we?” The three words feel heavy on your tongue, escaping your lips before you could stop them. The question floats around you for a few moments, before he opens his mouth.  
“What do you mean?”   
“I mean,” You start, sitting up a bit. You can feel the soft mattress sink under your elbow. “what’s going on between us?”  
A strange but comfortable silence falls across the room – it’s almost as if he needs to choose his words carefully.  
You ignore the butterflies on your stomach.   
“_____, I may be a wizard,” He replies, rolling his eyes. The silver boy gets up from the bed, leaving you alone in cream colored sheets. He tosses the used rubber on a garbage bin. With a few movements of his wand, he cleans himself – and you too. “but I know what friends with benefits are. Don’t worry.”  
You don’t shy away: your bare figure remains stretched against the mattress, in your naked glory. It takes every fiber in his body to not drown under the covers with you once again.   
“Is that what you are? My friend?” You wonder, eyeing him. The silver rays that enter his room bathe you in moonlight.   
His large hand finds a grey piece of fabric hanging from a lonely chair near the window. He puts on his sweatpants, leaving the material hanging low on his hips.   
“I can be whoever you want me to be.” He confesses with clear honesty in his tone, his greyish gaze escaping you.   
You don’t need a single drop of Veritaserum in order to find out if he’s lying or not. A whisper in your head makes sure to tell you that you passed the point of lying when he pushed you against the wall earlier today, barely letting you inside of his fancy apartment, needing to feel you.   
You smile devilishly, crawling to where he stood near the end of his bed.   
“Whoever I want?” You purr, looking up at him. Your doe eyes and kneeled position would be enough to get what you wanted from almost any men alive – but not him.   
His pale fingers wrap around your neck softly, as his lips touch yours one last time. The cold metal of his rings burn against your pulse, causing your blood to boil under his touch.   
“Don’t test me, dear.”

“Let’s do this again soon!” Hermione says, embracing you with her soft presence. Her hug seems to glue together some remaining broken pieces of your heart – and yours has the same effect on her. Words are not enough to describe how much you’ve missed her.   
“Of course” You let go of her arms, shoving your hands on your coat’s pockets in order to fish out your gloves. You wink and, before walking away, you say: “Don’t be a stranger.”  
Her curly hair gets lost in the sea of people. 

Draco gets back from the kitchen with two glasses of water in his hands and the scene before him makes him almost drop them. You were dressed in his Slytherin quidditch sweater – his typical uniform, which you probably found on the deep corners of his drawer, hidden from the outside world. The dark green and silver fabric looked like a second skin on you and you smile at him devilishly. Draco’s lips fall agape, a thousand words dying on his throat. His gaze escapes you for a brief moment as he places both glasses on the nearest surface – the both of you had a certain affinity of breaking porcelains and glasses.   
“What? Is there something wrong with my face?”   
He pulls you by the soft material, ready to write more sins on your skin. The playful smirk freezes on your lips as he kisses you roughly, pushing you against the soft bed once again.   
Your wax wings were definitely close to melting.


	5. dancing with the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> draco hasn’t reached out in a while and you’re growing annoyed by the second. what happens when you come face to face again? will you dance with the devil?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey darlings!! thank you so much for being patient with me and my writer’s block... it’s been a tough road lol. i edited this chapter, cut and added a few scenes and i honestly hope you like it. special thanks to my dear @drusilla-as-in-blackthorn (on tumblr) who beta read this for me. remember, feedback is always appreciated!  
> edit: would you guys be interested in another book with extra scenes/headcannons? please let me know!

Number ninety two, number ninety four…  
A colorful building comes in sight, as laughter fills your ears – the excited chatting of innocent children, shouting about whatever prank they had just pulled on each other. The familiar chaos makes you smile, feeling warmly nostalgic.  
Number ninety three: Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.  
You enter the shop as a small ding! follows your arrival, drowning in the variety of sounds that reverberated through the shop. A subtle sweet scent of bubblegum fills your nostrils, as you walk in between shelves. Your eyes run through the colorful boxes and products that filled said shelves, even the enchanted ones that floated around the place. A few kids run beside you, excited to check whatever merchandise that just caught their eye.  
“Shit!” You hear someone hiss behind you.  
A certain tall redhead appeared in your vision field. George was a bit bent down over a small cage, doing his best to control a rebellious pygmy puff. Said Weasley moved his right hand back and forth – most likely trying to ease the sting due to the fresh bite from the cute little monster, which was now trying to get off its cage, unsuccessfully.  
“George?” You call, a bit unsure – and, being completely honest, you have no idea why you feel so small suddenly. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that, the last time you saw him, it was at his twin brother’s funeral. A shiver travels down your spine before his cheerful voice interrupts your intrusive thoughts.  
“______!” The redhead sounds surprised, amused even, like he wasn’t expecting you – and in fact, he wasn’t: the man hasn’t seen you in months, why would he expect you to show up at his shop, half an hour before its usual closing time, on a Wednesday? For a second, it looks like he can’t believe the sight before him. “It’s good to see you.”  
His magenta, elegant suit looked even brighter than you originally remembered, contrasting with his flaming hair. George looks a bit paler than you remembered, a bit more tired – perhaps that’s why you avoided reaching out for so long. The only image of said Weasley you wanted to keep was the vivacious, upbeat boy you remembered.  
Alive.  
A sad smile blooms on your lips, as he eyed you, probably with similar thoughts flooding his mind. For the first time in a while, you consider that the battle scars aren’t exclusively the physical ones – there’s only so much the eye can see, after all.  
“How have you been?”  
George acts like your words don’t weight a thousand pounds.  
“Good, reopened the shop a few weeks ago.” His hands gesture around the colorful room, indicating his words. “What about you? Harry told me you’ve been working at the Ministry…”  
His tone wasn’t passive aggressive, however it wasn’t as lighthearted as you expected. It still felt odd to work for a government which did everything on its power to torture and massacre your loved ones – you don’t mind his uncertainty, given the fact you’ve been trying to come to terms with it yourself.  
“Yeah, trying to change things from the inside out, y’know?”  
“I’m afraid not, sweetheart. I own a joke shop, you see.”  
His words earn a genuine laugh to erupt deep from your chest, vibrating through your body. Some things never change. 

You looked around the room, searching for something to distract yourself with while George closed the shop – you offered your help, however he brushed it off and told you to wait for him in his office. His shelves were a bit dusty – which, by the way, you don’t blame him for: he has probably been avoiding this place since his brother’s death.  
Your eyes travel through picture frames, models of failed products and a bunch of different ingredients. If curiosity actually killed the cat, you’d be running out of lives by now. Your gaze falls on a small, interesting glass.  
“Drink me.” You read, voice barely above a whisper. Well, you were familiar with such sentence, recalling memories from your childhood. Being raised as a half-blood witch had its perks – you wonder where George learned this reference from.  
Shortly after opening the petite bottle, you bring it just under your nose.  
Whatever liquid filled the delicate bottle to the brim smelled like tea, apples and something you couldn’t quite tell what it was. Your eyebrows knot together – that was curious, the scent was familiar but you couldn’t get a grasp on where or when you’ve sensed it before.  
“I see you’ve found the love potion sample I’ve been working on.” A deep voice makes you jump, disrupting your invasive thoughts. You turn around, meeting a smiley George.  
“Why’d you do that for?”  
As if George Weasley needed an excuse to mess with you.  
“_____, I thought you were smarter than experimenting with mysterious potions.”  
Heat blooms on your cheeks, making you feel like a little kid who just got caught elbow-deep in a cookie jar, with crumbles around your mouth. You hand him the small, apparently dangerous bottle. Wordlessly, your imagination wondered about the mysterious potion.  
“It has the same effects as Amortentia, basically.” He answers, as if he could read your thoughts, handing you a small paper that looked like a recipe. George’s typical messy handwriting would be a bit confusing if you weren’t familiar with it. “Decided to upgrade our usual love potion a while ago, still haven’t tried it though…”  
“I’m not in the mood to be your guinea pig today; otherwise I would gladly volunteer to fall in love with you for a day.” You joke, rolling your eyes playfully, after handing him the paper back.  
“Let’s be honest, no one needs to be intoxicated to fall in love with me.”  
His smug smile makes you laugh in response, as he adjusted the suit jacket, removing any traces of imaginary dust. George’s goofy actions go on while you talk about whatever was going on in your lives; even some gossip about fellow ex-classmates had its place in your never-ending conversation.  
About half an hour later, George falls silent. He takes a deep breath, eyes wandering through the room, before admitting with a heavy undertone.  
“I miss people.”  
“Same.” You agree with him, a single word dense with a thousand meanings. The glitter that decorated your perfectly manicured nails seemed suddenly extremely interesting. For a few moments, the both of you stay silent, minds wandering through memories and what ifs.  
A strange nostalgia of your Hogwarts days overwhelmed you, making your eyes become glossy. You missed everything about the school, even the tough classes. Dumbledore’s welcoming speech, the train ride, the annual Halloween party…  
“Holy shit!” You exclaim, getting up from your seat. George could spot the engines working in your head as your eyes lit up.  
“What is it?”  
Your hands reach his top shelf, looking for a specific picture frame you found when you were wandering through his office. The photograph showed a few of your friends having fun on the night of the Yule Ball, with frozen smiles.  
“What about a Halloween party?” Your voice is excited, eager. Electricity travels through your veins, as you get more thrilled with the idea by the second. “Halloween is only a few weeks away, it’s the perfect opportunity to throw a party, God knows we need it…”  
The perfect excuse to see people again – the perfect escape form your never-ending mourning.  
The words earn a half-lidded stare from the tall man before he answers, crossing his legs on top of the table.  
“I’m listening.” 

For a couple of weeks, you would visit George at the shop right after your shift at the Ministry ended – the redhead would end up losing his mind if you and Lee weren’t helping him. Both boys were currently taking care of the list of foods and drinks needed for the celebration, while you were staring at a pile of orange and dark purple delicate papers.  
“What are those supposed to be?” You ask to no one in particular, examining the material. It was beautiful, and it also felt soft to the touch.  
“Invitations, of course.” Lee answers you briefly, quickly returning his gaze to the giant parchment floating in front of him.  
“_____, here’s the list of guests.” George places a long scroll near the colorful pile of unnamed invites, and a specific name catches your attention.  
Draco Malfoy, in messy handwriting, right at the top of the list.  
“Harry helped me with the names.” He states, as if he could read your mind. You nod in response, with a blank expression.  
Little did you know, fate was just starting to mess with you.

For three long weeks, Draco didn’t contact you – and it was bothering you more than you’d like to admit. Every morning, you checked your mail eagerly, expecting for at least a sign of life from the pastel haired boy.  
“Nothing. Again.” You mutter to yourself, fingers running through the letters you received this week.  
An unsettling feeling took over you: it felt like Draco only contacted you when he needed something – physically or mentally speaking. Unwanted thoughts invaded your mind, something you haven’t experienced in a while – usually too distracted with his magical touch.  
Was he using you?  
Well, one would find the fact that overthinking when you’re coping with vices quite impossible – however you still managed to fall down the rabbit hole. 

“Glad you could make it, mate.” The silver boy said, welcoming the golden one inside his apartment.  
Harry wandered through the living room while Draco looked for some last beer cans in his refrigerator – Blaine and Pansy finished most of it, in their last visit. Harry noticed quite quickly how Draco didn’t have a single picture frame in sight – from one damaged boy to another, he understood.  
What he noticed, however, was how the Malfoy boy was acting… different from when they last saw each other. The pale boy moved swiftly, didn’t look as stiff as he did months ago.  
Harry remembers wondering what happened to him.  
“Here.” Long, pale fingers pass him the cold can.  
Muggle beer? That was unexpected, to say the least. 

“I’m assuming you didn’t invite me over just for a pint?” Potter asks, after fifteen minutes of small talk. A few seconds pass by before Draco responds.  
“You’re right, I didn’t.”  
The golden boy adjusted his glasses towards the bridge of his nose, silently wandering about whatever matter made him end up at Malfoy’s couch, like they used to be the closest of friends.  
“I need your help.”  
Draco’s last words don’t really surprise him. 

“I don’t know, Mione…” Your voice sounds static on the other line, as you scribbled on a lost piece of paper, next to your telephone.  
“Why not?” She asks, twisting a lock of curly hair in her right index finger. On the other line, her voice also sounds static.  
You sigh in response – it’s quite impossible to escape Hermione’s interrogations.  
What were you supposed to tell her? Oh, I’m sorry I can’t go out today! Instead of looking for Halloween costumes with my dear friend, I’ll stay home and daydream about why Draco Malfoy is fucking ignoring me. I have to go now; my vanilla chocolate chip ice cream is waiting for me!  
“____, why not?” She sounds whinier this time, almost as if she was daring to try to say no. The disturbance almost makes you jump, snapping you out of your own mind.  
You met Hermione an hour after said call, outside the Leaky Cauldron. 

At this point, Draco was stripped down to his feelings, and he’s never felt more vulnerable. Awkwardly standing by himself, waiting for the only people he was familiar with. Well, the only person he was publicly familiar with.  
The fair-haired man sighs looking at his silver wristwatch, annoyed. Pansy and Blaine were supposed to meet him 15 minutes ago.  
You spot Malfoy before he can watch your silhouette appear gracefully in his horizon. The sound of your heels clicking against the floor makes him look up – and he wished silently he was at least mentally prepared to see you like this.  
Ironically enough, you looked ethereal. The dark red sequin material sparkled against your soft skin, hugging you in all the right places. Your lips were covered in a bright red color, contrasting with the obviously enchanted bright yellowy-green color of your eyes.  
You were definitely the most tempting oasis he’s ever come across.  
“What are you supposed to be dressed as, exactly?” You eye his clear clothes, not being able to control the surprised look on your face. The sequin white details of his shirt reflected the blinking lights occasionally, making him look godly. A delicate, enchanted halo floated on top of his pastel hair.  
“An angel?” He answers with a lighthearted laugh, unsure of the concept himself, fidgeting a bit with the hem of his silky shirt. The pearly colored material looked extremely soft to the touch – for a second you wonder what it would look like shriveled on your bedroom floor. “It was Pansy’s idea.”  
“Oh.” His pathetic attempt of needlessly justifying his costume makes your pulse become rapid. Your red hot smirk disappears, giving its place to a sad smile that looked more like a glossy pout.  
So that’s what he’s been doing for the past few weeks.  
“You’re supposed to be the devil, I assume.”  
“Bingo!” You answer, gladly ready to change the subject. Unconsciously, you were rather curious about how he would treat you when everyone was watching. Draco opens his mouth; however you never got to hear which words he would spit – secretly, you hope it was an apology for disappearing.  
“______!” you hear someone called behind you.  
“See you around, I guess.” You mutter before turning on your heels and walking towards your friend, leaving the empty corner Draco was standing at. The silver boy watches as Dean, who was dressed as a pirate, embraces you in a tight hug. Your laugh is muffled, face pressed against his chest.  
“I’ve been looking for you all over the place! Let’s get inside” He hears the other boy exclaim, before the both of you disappear in the sea of people. 

George did an astounding job decorating the place: the usual shelves that filled most of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes were replaced with sofas, tables with food and drinks and even a camera booth. Spider webs dangled from the ceiling, creating beautiful patterns. Jack-o’-lanterns of every size decorated the outside area, floating around softly. 

“Please, we need to recreate that Yule Ball picture.” You comment, eyes wide with excitement, spilling a bit of your fire whisky on Dean’s shoes – the boy quickly cleaned your clumsiness, snorting at your intoxicated state.  
It’s been an hour and a half since you last saw Malfoy, who, at some point, was talking to Harry (said boy was dressed as the Tin Woodman from The Wizard Of Oz – Ron was dressed as the Lion, Hermione as Dorothy and Ginny as the Wicked Witch). You remember seeing both boys chatting near the drinks table, after you returned to your group friends with three butter beers in hand.  
Strangely enough, no one seemed bothered or even curious about the situation. You were too distracted observing his gentle angel wings to pay proper attention to what they were talking about. All things considered, you were truly trying your best to ignore the sinking feeling of being ignored by someone you thought highly of.  
George tugs a bit on your waist, distracting you from your wandering mind – “The picture, _____”. You smile at the enchanted camera, recreating one of the best moments of your life – your brain ignores successfully the lack of a few figures, friends who were long gone.  
The redhead holds your waist with one hand as the other one creates a pair of silly horns on top of Lee’s head, who was dressed as Madam Hooch. Seamus is kneeled in front of you, beside Dean – who had a genuine smile blooming on his lips, arm snaked around his friend who was also dressed as a pirate. Hermione and Ana Abott vogue to your left, smiling widely at the camera. The original picture was taken by Colin Creevey, as the students waited to enter the Great Hall before the ball started – the memory sends a chill down your spine.  
For split a second, your eyes lock with Malfoy’s and you slowly crumble. The pale boy was looking at you from across the room; icy gaze returning to whoever he was talking to after you caught him staring.  
Draco felt his heart drop to his stomach: it was just like the Yule Ball all over again – only now he understood why he felt so nauseous when he saw you with someone else. 

“____, are you drunk?” Dean asks with an amused smile planted on his lips, shortly after the picture was taken.  
“No, I’m very sober, thank you very much.” 

As your blood slowly became alcohol, the weird feeling on your chest seemed to become stronger. It was almost as if your body was hyper aware of Malfoy’s presence; however your mind refused to let you talk to him in public. You could feel your grip on the bottle of butter beer tightening when he excitedly laughed at something a certain brunette said. 

Malfoy watched you attentively as you nursed on yet another glass of fire whisky, excitedly chatting with Dean and some other people he didn’t quite recognize. Pansy was going on about an attractive girl who used to be in Ravenclaw for the last few minutes, but her words knot together, creating nothing but a confusing static.  
Draco could feel himself growing annoyed of said conversation – and girl.  
“I’m gonna get some air” He tells the dark haired girl, turning around before waiting for an answer.  
On his way towards the outside area, Draco runs into someone – more specifically you. You stumble, gripping his shoulders for balance. For someone who already had four butter beers, a few glasses of fire whiskey and unnumbered shots a muggle drink he didn’t quite recognize, your senses were working alright.  
The silver boy helps you stand on your feet again, looking over his shoulder. He was clearly concerned if anyone in the party could spot the both of you together and, perhaps, make a connection.  
“You’re not the most subtle, do you know that?” Your words are hissed, poison dripping from your mouth. Your gaze finds his pale eyes, sending a thousand daggers with your look – he doesn’t back away. He looks over his shoulder one last time before you say: “Scared, Malfoy?”  
“_____, you’re drunk.”  
Still, he looked apprehensive: paranoia didn’t look good on him.  
“And you’re an idiot.” You whisper, his uneasiness setting a fire inside of your heart, making your blood boil. How come you’re the one he runs to when he needs support when he’ll barely acknowledge your existence in public?  
Anger didn’t look good on you.  
“You don’t usually say that when I’m fucking you.” His boldness surprises you, whispered words sending tingles through your body. “In fact, if I remember correctly, you have a tendency of begging for more.”  
A wave of heat blossoms under your cheeks, though somehow you manage to stay grounded. In fact, you move a few centimeters in his direction; faces so close you could feel his breath fanning over your face. Draco thanked the Gods above that no one was watching the both of you – or so he thought.  
Suddenly, your night became nothing but a blur – the last thing you remember is Draco’s gentle wings.


	6. collateral damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> morning afters aren’t really your thing - you find out about what happened during the halloween party and maybe your paranoia was wrong, after all. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): alcohol consumption, brief mentions of ptsd, some angst and some fluff - probably some grammar errors too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi babies!! thank you very much for being so patient with me <3 this isn’t betaread and i would really appreciate your comments and kudos. remember, feedback is always appreciated!

“Some things never change, huh?” Your bitter words felt heavy in your mouth and they successfully get Draco’s attention – you try to ignore how his pale eyes flicker when they look at you. “You’re still scared of what people will think of you…”

“It’s not that.”

“Yes it is!” You exclaim, a bit loudly, starting to lose control over your own frustration. The Slytherin prince flinches a bit, however he held his gaze on yours. You couldn’t begin to fully understand why you felt so angry, nevertheless the rage still boiled on your blood, travelling through your veins like poison. 

“Let’s go outside, c’mon.” Draco tugged lightly on your arm, but you stayed planted on your previous position, refusing to move. “_____, don’t do this to me.”

Still, you denied moving or answering him: you merely stared at him with anger dripping from your eyes – and, in that moment, he thanked all the Gods above that no one was paying attention to the both of you. Stubborn tears threatened their way out of your eyes, as you stumbled through your words – and feet, again.

The first stage of grief is denial.

You groaned loudly as your eyelids fluttered open – only to be shut again, eyes almost going blind due to the harsh sunshine entering through the curtains. The chill wind entered through a small crack on the window, making the pale drapes move like curious ghosts.

The soft sheets that cover you feel like the ideal cocoon to hide. You let yourself drown under the covers for a few more hours, not ready to face the world – or whatever happened the night before – yet. The early November breeze proceeds to fill your room with new promises.

A loud sound woke you up around one in the afternoon, causing you to groan once again under the covers, head pounding with what seemed like an unforgiving hangover. You wished the rude noise would stop, silently praying to the gods above; however the universe wasn’t feeling kind.

The knocks on your door don’t stop, causing you to drag yourself through your apartment to let whoever it was know that you were currently not available, _thank you very much_. As soon as you get to the door, you hear the person on the other side mumbling something about you taking too long to answer it.

A fresh-looking Harry Potter is revealed after you opened the wooden door. You let him in, too tired to put up with a stubborn discussion, already sensing said boy would yell at you for your drunken mistakes.

“Are you here to tell me about what happened last night?” You ask, rubbing your fingertips on your throbbing temples.

“Sort of…” Harry starts, hanging his coat – he doesn’t need an invitation to make himself at home at this point. “But before I hit you with the news, I need to make sure you’re alive to hear them.”

His words refer to your obvious messy state: there was smudged lipstick on your chin from the night before, silver glitter on your hair and… what were you even wearing? Harry was too kind not to mention the dark green sweater, purple sweat shorts and mismatched socks combo. 

“Go take care of yourself,” he says with a nod motioning towards the bathroom. “I’ll take care of the food.”

While Harry got some Chinese takeout from under the street, you took a shower. The warm droplets undo the tense muscles on your back, making you moan in relief – the water embraces you like a mother embracing a child. Through soap and bubbles, your mind starts to wonder.

And that’s when you start connecting the dots: why is _Harry_ here? Why not Hermione? Why not Dean?

It clicks, then.

_Harry was the first one to find out._

“How’d you find out?” Your voice disturbs the peaceful silence as you enter the kitchen, taking a seat on the worn-out wooden chair. You eye the Chinese takeout box in front of you, wondering if you were feeling hungry at all after the terrifying theory clogged your mind.

“Pretty simple, actually.” He takes a sip of his soda can, nodding towards the chair in front of him – you take a seat, attempting to avoid his rich green gaze. “He called you by your first name.”

 _Fuck_.

“And?”

“When has Malfoy ever addressed anyone by their first name?”

He had a valid point.

“I feel like at least half of your almost-death experiences wouldn’t happen if you weren’t so nosy, Potter.” Your voice is annoyed, although there’s a slight playful undertone.

“Potter, huh?” He asks, eyebrows raised. Harry’s rich green eyes have a spark of fun burning inside them. “You’re even acting like him.”

A dangerous silence follows his words, causing a chill to travel down your spine. The playful banter becomes more adventurous as hell’s flames start to become closer to you.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Malfoy… you’re acting like Malfoy”

You groan in response, head sinking between your hands.

Pansy was the first one to find out.

“_____? Wow, did not expect this from you.”

“Shut up.” Draco’s words are as cold as his pale eyes, gaze sending daggers in her direction. There was no use in denying it: he was sure the girl saw him leaving the party with you – well, more like leaving the party _carrying_ you.

The brunette was currently almost pushing her head inside of his fridge, looking for any sort of snacks. Her curious hands groped some products but nothing seemed to catch her attention – or appetite. Who could blame her? It was four in the morning, and after a party like that, any human would need something to eat. Well, except Draco apparently.

“Merlin’s beard, you need to go grocery shopping.”

Pansy’s comment earned a huff from the silver boy. His eyes remain a bit wide, waiting for her next reaction, pale eyebrows knitted together on top of them.

“So, back to your _girlfriend_.” The girl said, closing the fridge. Draco pretends he doesn’t hear the mocking tone dripping from her words – especially the last one.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

The words leave his lips before he properly thinks about it, sounding a bit more defensive than he originally intended. Silently cursing himself, Draco gets off the marble counter.

“Look it’s… nothing, alright?” He starts, chest becoming a graveyard of dead words. He feels the need to deny whatever it was he had with you and defend you with his nails and teeth – simultaneously. “Forget about it.”

“I don’t blame you.” Pansy interrupts him before he could go any further. “She’s _really_ fit.”

He takes a few seconds to register what his friend said. Pansy was not one who was recognized by her compliments and kindness, let’s put it that way.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“You say she’s not your girl, yet you treat her like she is.” The brunette fully ignores him, giggling while opening a cabinet in search for a protein bar. She smiles devilishly, opening the plastic packaging with her front teeth after finding one.

“Jealous, huh?”

Her wink makes Malfoy swallow loudly, mind wandering about you.

“There’s more though.” Potter said, through another delicious forkful.

Your gaze is curious, eyeing his expression closely. There’s a bit of a nervous tone to his voice, as if he’s about to tell you something that’ll change your experience as a human being – you doubt it’s something in that level, however.

“Malfoy took care of you yesterday, after you passed out. I saw you two fighting when I was on my way to leave the party, and-“ He stops in his tracks, words dying on his throat as he looks at you.

You looked like you were about to explode.

“He… he what?”

“He took care of you after you passed out.” Harry says, a bit confused, wondering if you had the IQ of a squirrel.

“I passed out?”

“You don’t remember passing out?” He asks, casually looking for any more food.

“Of course I don’t, Potter!” You exclaim, whining a bit – your heart swelled with regret and anxiety.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Yeah, he carried you and everything.” He continues, amused with your desperate reactions. “I’m assuming he didn’t need the address.”

No, not even a key.

A week later, you find yourself making your way towards Draco’s building. The route you’ve took a thousand times before seems different, _scarier_. Before building the courage to knock on Malfoy’s door, a lifetime of flashbacks pass right before your eyes – _sure_ , maybe you’re being dramatic, but the moment seemed to call for it.

Your fist meets the door seven times, in the specific rhythm you set up ever since your first encounters. It takes a minute or two – or maybe a lifetime or two – before he finally opens the door.

You’re taken aback, at first. The silver-haired boy looks exhausted, dark circles are painted under his eyes: he’s not wearing his usual fancy clothes, no – he’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and some fuzzy socks. For a brief moment, it seems like he’s going to scream at you – that is, until he finally breaks the silence between the both of you.

“Come in.”

You do.

Your expression is timid, almost as if you’re embarrassed – which, you won’t admit out loud, you are, due to your childish actions during the Halloween party. While you waited in the small balcony, admiring the night sky, Draco fixed you some tea – the moment called for chamomile, apparently.

“So, are you gonna tell me what’s really going on or am I supposed to spill some Veritaserum on your tea?” He asks coolly, too distracted by his silver rings to pay proper attention to your response – which was nothing more than a scoff. You don’t miss the fact that he’s avoiding your gaze.

You take a sip of your warm tea, calmly – there was an unsaid temptation of screaming your feelings in his face, but you knew better than that. Swallowing your pride – well, most of it – you get a little bit closer to him, bringing your chair near his: he doesn’t move an inch.

“I just…” You start, voice falling small, drowning in the stubborn tears that threaten their way out of your eyes. “I don’t understand why you stopped talking to me…”

The realization hits him like a freight train: _you assumed he was ignoring you_. His eyes finally meet yours, an ocean gaze falling upon you.

“We were seeing each other every week, almost every day, spending the whole night together…” Persistent tears hang on your water line, causing you to avoid Draco’s intense gaze. “And then… and then you disappear for _weeks_?”

It’s more of a question than anything: you still couldn’t process the radio silence that lasted unnumbered nights. Perhaps you were being immature – you were merely friends with benefits, merely-

“I wasn’t ignoring you.” He says, interrupting your rude thoughts – but not in a defensive way: he sounds genuinely upset with the fact he hurt you. “I was just… laying low. I avoided almost all human contact for those three weeks.”

His words confuse you, however you remain in silence.

“Apparently,” He starts, as a thousand words flying through his brain. Perhaps it wasn’t the moment to talk about it. “I don’t wanna talk about what happened but…” Draco intertwines your hands in his, kissing your knuckles before begging: “Just trust me.”

And you do – how could you not?

“I’m sorry.” You’re not sure who said it first, but it seemed like it was in unison – somehow, it ends up in a gentle kiss.

An hour and a bottle of wine later, you’re in the kitchen – soft jazz music plays somewhere in the living room: you’re unsure if it’s from an electronic device or an enchanted record player. It works either way.

“Dance with me.” He murmurs against your lips, with closed eyes. Before you can act in disbelief, he adds.

“Please, dear.”

It takes a few seconds before you can properly register his words – and the softness dripping from his voice, the way he’s begging you to stay, the way he called you _dear_ -

It’s never been dear – or sweetie, honey, not even baby. It’s always been _____.

You really owe him a dance.

It’s slow, romantic – something new to the both of you.

It’s sensual, picking up its pace – his face is buried in your hair, taking in your scent as if you’d slip through his arms.

Wondering what it’d be like to fall for Malfoy would be like questioning the night sky, at the top of your lungs, what it’d be like to see a star up close when the sun visits you every morning.


End file.
